Being The Hero
by Bastet1023
Summary: One-Shot. Takes place after TDK. Spoilers. The Joker takes a walk and finds himself in a curious position.


_This is pretty much inspired by "The Dark Knight". It's most likely a one-shot, unless I get a sudden burst of inspiration and ideas. This is my first Batman fiction so be gentle. And in case any of my Predator fiction readers are looking at this, my old computer that housed all my stories, died suddenly. Hopefully it'll be up and running soon; otherwise, you may be waiting a bit on updates. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!_

**Being the Hero**

A light wind blew over the tops of the buildings of Gotham. It was a clear night though the fluorescent lights of the city blotted out the stars. Only the moon, barely half full, stood to compete with the brilliant glow of the city. For once in a long time, Gotham was actually rather peaceful in appearance.

It sickened the Joker.

Peace, serenity, silence. They were for the dead. The living had a much greater, more intense experience. Pain, rage, insanity; it was so much more _fun_ to be alive. But death didn't frighten him. It would come for him eventually, as it did for all. Whether it came sooner or later, it didn't matter. He'd have all the fun he could before that time.

The air that touched his face was cold, yet of a clean scent. The thick makeup he so often wore no longer covered his face making him feel slightly exposed. However, there was no one around to see him, so what did it matter? And if someone did show up? Well, then death would be paying a visit this night.

With a growled snort of laughter, the Joker turned his back on the city, striding across the uneven rooftop of the building he was on. Grime crunched under his shoes as he approached a fire escape. One more glance at the sky made the Joker smile; there was no Bat-signal to be seen marring the sky.

Of course, Batsy was still out there, hunting him, but what did it matter. The Batman wouldn't kill him, he'd already proven that. And he could escape even the most secure cells in Arkham, as he had proven a few weeks ago, stealing away from the decrepit asylum as easily as he had been brought there.

The old steel of the fire escape creaked and groaned as the Joker moved down it. He stopped at a window on the seventh floor of the ten-story building, slipping inside.

The room was bare, but functional: a refrigerator, an operational bathroom, a table and chair and a small bed. The space had a chaotic neatness about it; small items such as knives and papers placed haphazardly, yet speaking of an almost deliberate nature, like a natural game trail through a thick forest.

The Joker was not one for the more fanciful things in life. He was a simple creature needing only the most basic of necessities. He was efficient, with his homemade clothing and pieced together weapons, though they could be parted with without remorse. This "home", if it could be called that, could be abandoned at any moment. Attachment was a dangerous thing.

The only thing of any real value was the small television set that sat on a chipped and cracked wooden table. It was silenced, but the Joker could read the headlines. He giggled at the sight of an angry mob outside of the mayor's office, demanding the capture of the Batman. Though the Batman had turned his Ace in the Hole completely on it's side by making Dent a fallen hero, he'd lost whatever remnants of respect the citizens of Gotham had given him, though it wasn't much. The delicious irony always made the Joker howl with laughter.

Glancing about the room, the Joker pouted. Neither hunger nor exhaustion nudged at his mind. He had no real urges t do anything particularly destructive. Frankly, he was in a rather rare, yet serene mood; if the Joker could ever be "serene".

He adjusted his purple coat and made a move towards the window. He paused and his eyes flickered towards the darkened doorway that led to the bathroom where his makeup lay. He smirked and shook his head. Not tonight. He wanted to feel the air of Gotham on his face, uninhibited by the overwhelming weight and bouquet of the thick makeup he wore.

Slipping back out of the window, then darting quickly down the rest of the creaking fire escape, the Joker strode off into the night, humming a nonsensical tune to himself.

He passed by the building where his current followers took residence. Most of his men lasted less than a year before he offed them for one reason or another, sometimes for no reason at all; and there were always so many scrambling over each other to take the fallen one's place. It was laughably pathetic.

Continuing to stroll down the streets, no real destination in mind, the Joker thought over what he wanted to do next. He'd begun to get bored with banks. Perhaps calling out the Batman for another little showdown would be entertaining. Or a mass breakout in Arkham would be fun too. So many possibilities…

As he brooded over the many varieties of chaos he could commit, he moved further into the more decrepit parts of this area of Gotham. Though he knew the surrounding area by heart, being it was so close to his current hideaway, the streets he so calmly strode through were not kind to unknowledgeable wanderers.

A high pitch scream echoed through the air, interrupting his erratic thought pattern. It seemed to be coming from somewhere nearby. The Joker never paused his steps, but tilted his head to the side curiously. Another scream came, this one closer. He could hear voices, though they were warped and distorted by the buildings around. He finally strode past an alleyway and spotted the source of the screaming.

Orange light from a street lamp at the opposite end of the alley cast a hellish illumination of the scene. A man pressed a woman against the wall, he being at least a foot taller than her and twice her body mass. The Joker could see the silver glint of the knife in the man's hand, pressing against the woman's throat as she begged for her life. From the looks of it, the Joker guessed that this wasn't a simple robbery; the thick strap of her purse could be seen against her shoulder. If it were a mere robbery, the man would be gone by now, along with the purse. No, this was either a rape or a murder, or perhaps both.

The two were completely oblivious to the Joker. The Joker caught fragments of a rather lewd statement coming from the man. Definitely rape then… as for murder, well, he'd probably know in a few minutes.

Glancing to the left, right, behind and above him, the Joker half expected the Batman to leap out of the shadows and rescue this damsel in distress. Unfortunately for the woman, it appeared that Batman had something else planned for the evening.

The Joker regarded them for a second more before slipping a gun out from within his jacket. He preferred using knives, but even guns had their uses. His gaze slid over the gun smoothly, taking his time and wondering to himself why he was actually giving a damn about this woman and letting such a thing interrupt his rare stroll through Gotham's streets. _"Well, chaos does swing both ways_," he thought with a grin. Chuckling lightly to himself, he raised the gun, licked his lips, aimed, and fired.

He laughed out loud as he saw the soon-to-be-rapist's head explode, showering he woman and the surrounding area with bone, brain matter and blood. Though the gun he had was small, it packed quite a punch.

Striding confidently down the alleyway, the Joker watched the woman slide down the wall, sinking into a fetal-like position. As her got closer, he could make out the clothing she was wearing, now splattered with gore that looked black in the orange glow of the streetlight. She was dressed in decent, perhaps tailored clothing, but not the cream-of-the-crop fancy style that Gotham's finest often wore. Definitely an upper middle-class citizen.

The Joker stopped in front of the woman and slipped the gun back into his jacket. He head cocked to the side as he regarded the woman curiously. He gave a closed lip grin and held out a gloved hand, vaguely wondering if the woman was in shock.

She gave a sharp shudder and her eyes flickered from his hand to his face. The Joker expected to see disgust or horror on her face, the two most common looks her received in regard to his scars. Her eyes flickered back down to his hand, in which she gently placed her own, thin hand. The Joker, surprised, but undaunted, hauled her to her feet. Standing she was still a bit shorter that him, her mousey brown hair tumbling about her shoulders, framing a heart shaped face. Deep brown eyes glistened with tears. Her voice was a raspy whisper but the Joker heard her clearly, "Thank you… you saved me."

The Joker snorted slightly, "I _saved_ you?"

The woman nodded and looked up at him, "He would have killed me, you know," she glanced at the fallen body and shifted away from it like a skittish deer, "Most people would have let me die, but you didn't…"

The Joker was only half listening. He was mainly wondering why she had not see his scars and panicked. Any human not living under a rock for the past year would know who he was, makeup or no, simply by his scars. He eyes flickered around and the pieces snapped into place. His position, her position, the lighting… she undoubtedly couldn't see his face, at least not clearly. And in the orange light his jacket appeared black not purple. He probably looked like just another battered businessman, headed home from a long night at the office. The notion almost made the Joker burst out laughing,

He thoughts were interrupted by the woman's next sentence, "You're a hero."

The Joker's mind froze. The word "hero" applied had never been applied to him and he never thought it would be, "I'm no hero…" he chuckled, "The Batman is the hero in these parts."

The woman shrugged, "The Batman didn't just stop a man from raping and killing me. You did." She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him.

The Joker stiffened. Being touched was not his forte. Touching other people, he could handle… but this? He briefly considered silting her throat with his switchblade for daring to touch him.

The woman released him, likely sensing his tension, "What's your name?" The question was innocent enough.

"Jack," the Joker blurted, before he could stop himself. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn't used that name in reference to himself for a long time.

The woman gave a hesitant smile, "Jack? I'm Valerie." Her next words were interrupted by gunfire. The Joker's mind calculated the sounds quickly. They were coming from the direction he had been walking away from… from the area where his men were in current residence. That was the only problem with working with the unstable: they killed each other as much as those he told them to kill.

"I should go… I was supposed to meet someone here, but they never showed…" The woman began to back away but paused, digging in the purse that somehow still hung on her shoulder, "Here…" she handed the Joker a small card. In the dim light her could see the words printed on it.

**Valerie Matiner**

**General Manager**

**Gotham City Bank**

"I hope to see you again Jack," she said, smiling at him. It was strange for the Joker to see someone actually directing a friendly smile at him, "You _are_ a hero, no matter what you think." She tuned and trotted off down the alley, turning and disappearing around the corner.

The Joker stood there for a whole minute, his mind buzzing over the encounter. His laugh started as a giggle, expanding into a chuckle, eventually reaching the full-out keening screech of a laugh he was known for. Not even in his wildest dreams could he think this up! He, _the Joker_, "the hero" of the general manager of the Gotham City Bank!

Still laughing he leaned down and dug through the dead man's pockets, finding a little money and his fallen knife. Slipping his plunder into his jacket, the Joker began to walk back to the building that housed his men, vaguely wondering how many he would find alive. If enough, perhaps he'd pay dear Valerie the visit she seemed so keen on. Maybe robbing backs wasn't so boring after all.

His laughter began to die down and he grinned. So maybe this was why Batsy was so keen on playing the role of Gotham's defender and protector.

It didn't feel too bad, being the hero…

_So, was it any good? Or did it suck terribly? I'd like to know. Please REVIEW!_


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